(Darnell Nuna's POV – Unknown Planet, Evil Cult Custody, Day 3)
'I thought the Evil Cult's base would be like something out of a necromancer's dungeon… damp stone walls, iron chains, the stench of rotting flesh, and skulls arranged like décor,' Darnell mused as he sat by the window, peering out over the shimmering skyline of what looked like a rather well-functioning city.
But to his surprise, none of those dark fantasy clichés applied.
He wasn't tied up. He wasn't being tortured. Hell, he wasn't even being watched all the time. His room had a real mattress—high quality too—fluffy pillows, clean sheets, and a panoramic view of a sprawling city bathed in warm dusk light.
Occasionally, people even knocked politely before delivering his meals.
'Is this really the Evil Cult?' he wondered again, brow furrowed, spoon halfway to his mouth.
The food was good. A little rich for his taste, but seasoned well.
*Knock.*
*Knock.*
The sound snapped him from his thoughts, and he quickly turned toward the door as it slid open with a soft hiss.
An old man stepped in—short, well-dressed, with laugh lines carved deep into the sides of his cheeks and a gentle twinkle in his eyes that didn't match the reputation of the faction he supposedly served.
"Good evening, young master Nuna," the man said warmly, his tone so relaxed it almost felt like a grandfather greeting a grandson.
"I'm called Mighty Mouse," he added, offering a light bow.
Darnell blinked. "Mighty what now?" he said, letting out a laugh. "That's your name?"
"Well," the old man chuckled along, "a nickname, really. One I've carried for some time. People remember it better than my real one, so I've grown quite fond of it."
"You Cult folks really aren't what I expected," Darnell admitted, still chuckling. "You're more polite than half the academy instructors I've had."
"We do our best to make guests feel welcome," Mighty Mouse said, pulling up a chair and sitting with a soft grunt. "Tell me something, Darnell—may I call you Darnell?"
"Sure."
"Tell me… how was your childhood? What kind of memories did you make with your father?"
Darnell's face immediately lit up, his smile stretching wide as he leaned forward, enthusiasm bubbling in his voice. "He's the best. Strongest man in the universe, hands down. I used to watch him train guild members from the shadows, thinking he was like some mythical beast. But he's not all scary, y'know? At home, he was... soft. Funny, even. The way he used to brush my hair or scold me when I stole sweets from the kitchen…" his voice softened, "I bet he's worried sick for me right now."
A sudden wave of guilt washed over his face, and his eyes lowered to the table, the smile slowly fading.
Mighty Mouse observed all of it calmly, nodding with a thoughtful hum, but internally, his assessment was cold and clear.
'Emotionally untrained. This boy wears his emotions on his face, and has the maturity of a seven year old.
Even Though he's grown up physically, mentally and psychologically he's worse than most five year olds. Dupravel has truly failed to give him a proper upbringing'
Still smiling outwardly, he leaned forward and gently tapped the table.
"You miss your father?" he asked, kindly.
"Of course!" Darnell responded instantly.
"Well then, let's do something about that," Mighty Mouse said, producing a small scroll of paper and a glowing communication crystal from his robe. "I'll give you the coordinates to this planet. And with this crystal, you can record a message. Let him know where you are. We will forward it to him and then he can come pick you up if he wants."
Darnell's eyes widened.
"Wait, seriously? You're letting me send a message? Just like that?"
"We're not monsters, dear boy," the old man said, smiling as he placed both items in front of him.
Darnell picked them up slowly, his voice filled with surprise. "AYYY, you folks are nice!"
Mighty Mouse chuckled again, though his eyes remained unblinking as he watched Darnell begin recording, the red shimmer of the crystal capturing every word.
"Hey dad! It's me, Darnell! I'm okay, don't worry! These cult people haven't hurt me at all… They actually gave me a great room, with food and all, and there's this guy named Mighty Mouse—haha, yeah I know, funny name—who's been really nice to me. Listen, I'm sending you the coordinates they gave me. You can come get me on this planet, alright? I miss you. Please come soon…"
As Darnell kept talking, Mighty Mouse leaned back slightly, steepling his fingers with a quiet hum of satisfaction, as everything was going just as planned.
—-------------
(A few hours later, Planet Twin Fang)
A miscellaneous package was delivered to planet Twin Fang a few hours later, containing a copy of the message Darnell had recorded for his dad.
The package, after being verified by the Black Serpent Guild security, quickly made its way up to the guild masters office, where Dupravel played it with the desperation of a man clinging to his last thread of sanity.
The moment Darnell's face appeared in the projection— smiling, alive, and blissfully unaware of the storm his disappearance had caused— Dupravel's composure crumbled.
As the recording played with cheerful innocence.
> "Hey dad! It's me, Darnell! I'm okay, don't worry! These cult people haven't hurt me at all… They actually gave me a great room, with food and all, and there's this guy named Mighty Mouse—haha, yeah I know, funny name—who's been really nice to me. Listen, I'm sending you the coordinates they gave me. You can come get me on this planet, alright? I miss you. Please come soon…"
As the words ended and the light from the projection flickered off, Dupravel remained frozen in his seat, staring at the empty air as the silence in his chamber thickened like smoke.
Then his shoulders began to tremble.
One breath. Two.
And suddenly— he cracked.
The first sob escaped his throat like a growl, as tears streamed down his face unchecked. He didn't try to hide them. Didn't bother wiping them. His heart, hardened through decades of bloodshed, shattered like brittle glass in the face of his son's voice.
"Antonio…" he choked, his voice raw. "Where is he? What are those coordinates?"
Antonio, who had been standing silently at the edge of the room, immediately stepped forward and keyed the numbers into his data-slate.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The screen pulsed once, then displayed a name.
Antonio's hands froze mid-air, the color draining from his face, as the name that showed up terrified him.
"I-I-It–" Antonio stuttered as Dupravel frowned.
"What is it? What?" Dupravel urged, as Antonio finally blurted out the name.
"Ixtal…"
"He's on Ixtal… God help us… he's on Ixtal."
Dupravel's head snapped toward him.
"What?" he barked, though the dread had already begun to seep into his veins.
Afterall, Ixtal was the cult's spiritual homeland. The birthplace of the Timeless Assassin… the current residence of the Evil God Soron.
As for a second, even Dupravel looked stunned. Turning pale and paralyzed by the weight of what that name meant.
Any other planet in the universe, and he would have marched in today with the full wrath of the Black Serpents—torching countries, breaking sanctums, razing the soil itself if need be.
But not Ixtal.
Ixtal wasn't a place you attacked.
Ixtal wasn't a place you infiltrated.
Ixtal… wasn't a place you left alive.
And as the full realization crashed over him, Dupravel let out a monstrous roar and hurled the data-slate in Antonio's hand across the room, as he shattered it against the far wall.
*CRASH—*
He flipped his obsidian desk, splintering it clean in two, even though it had been delivered just this morning.
*SMASH—*
A gilded bookshelf collapsed beneath his fists, tomes of assassination records spilling like corpses onto the floor.
*CLANG—*
The ancestral blades mounted on the wall clattered down as he slammed his shoulder into the steel panel.
Antonio didn't move.
He knew better than to interrupt the hurricane.
Dupravel's chest heaved, teeth bared, fists bloodied from the wreckage.
"He's surrounded by monsters," he growled, voice low and venomous. "They knew I couldn't reach him there. They planned this from the start. They sent this message to tease me!"
And for the first time in decades—perhaps centuries—Dupravel Nuna felt something he rarely admitted to, even to himself.
Helplessness.
Because his son wasn't just kidnapped.
He was on Ixtal.
And nobody—absolutely nobody—walked onto Ixtal uninvited and came back out alive.
Not even Monarchs.